|Have you ever watched an awards show and wondered why no two dresses are the same?
Me either, but that didn't stop me from doing a small bit of research on the subject.
In seems in fashion circles, that it is an unspoken rule that no two starlets should ever wear the same outfit. In fact, for those that are in the upper echelons of the A-list, the designer dresses are brought to them just a few hours before the big event where a decision is made on what the celebrity will wear thus ensuring that no one else will be wearing the same dress.
In the grand scheme of things should it really matter if two celebrities wear the same dress?
I mean, is the world going to stop rotating because Taylor Swift and Jennifer Lopez wore the same outfit to the Grammys thus causing the entire world's population to fall off?
Let's hope not!
Until recently, this situation had never occurred in my life. First, although I know it's hard to believe, I'm not an A-list celebrity or a B-lister for that matter.
I don't think I'm on any list except that pesky telemarketer that has been calling me for ten years. "No! I don't want to take a Disney dream vacation!" I've told him no so many times, now, I think he calls just to see if I'm still alive. (I use my old lady voice on him.)
Friend and I wanted to try a new restaurant at Amicalola Lodge which is located in the Amicalola Falls State Park in the North Georgia Mountains. Check out the link, it's a really nice place to visit.
On Sunday mornings, they offer a Sunday Brunch. It's a bit pricey, but the view is spectacular. Some days you just luck onto things and this was one of those days. Not only did we enjoy a fabulous meal and a fantastic view, there was also a Craft Show going on.
We were finishing up our meal when the unthinkable happened. In walked a party of three, two elderly ladies and a gentleman. The ladies were wearing the same shirt.
The EXACT same shirt that I was wearing. Oh, crap, this was going to be awkward.
I pointed out the similarity to Friend who started to laugh. "I told you to wear the white shirt," she said.
I didn't want to wear a white shirt, because white shirts pick up stains easier than a dark shirt. After all, I was eating at a buffet; there was a good chance that a small food particle might end up on my chest. No sooner had I thought that last statement then the exact white shirt I had also been considering walked by in another party.
What are the odds? Not only, if noticed, would I have to endure the unpleasant conversation of "Oh, we have on the same outfit," but that I also shop at Walmart. (Please, don't judge me, I live 40 miles from a mall.)
I was ready to go so we checked out the Craft Show. Happily, we never ran into the similarly clothed duo and stopped at a table laden with fancy soaps. The lady working there gave me an odd look before saying, "I'm sorry, but I can't do any better on the price of the gift basket,"
"What gift basket?" I asked, slightly puzzled.
"This one right here," she said pointing to a beautifully arranged gift basket. "Twenty-five dollars is the best I can do."
"I'll take it," I said.
"You will? But you were so adamant just a few minutes ago. And where is your mother?" she asked. "We had the loveliest conversation about your matching tops."
Now, I began to put it all together. She was confusing me with the other party. "You must be talking about the other folks that are wearing the same shirt that I am. I saw them upstairs in the restaurant."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I am terribly sorry." Giving me the once over, she continued, "it was the shirt that confused me. You look several years younger than her and certainly wear it better." Leaning in close, she whispered, "She really needed a better bra, boobs hanging down low like that. I should know, because I have the same exact shirt and one of my friends pointed it out to me. We girls must always care about our appearance," she said standing up straight.
"Sure do," I said standing up a little straighter.
"I'll tell you what, I'll let you have the basket for half-price, just for being a good sport."
"Done," I said smiling in return.
Yes, I may shop at Walmart, but sometimes it pays off.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Posted by Gianetta at 8:33 PM
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Posted by Gianetta at 2:32 PM
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
|I missed the Fourth of July parade again this year, but just barely. I wanted to go, but I have this thing about parades. They scare me a little and usually make me cry.
I was in the marching band in high school so I got to march in several parades a year. I don't think they bothered me then because I was in the parade and didn't have to watch. From the tenth grade on I marched in the very front row on the left-hand side. I played a large brass instrument and it was a lot of fun. Maybe, it was from watching all of those Thanksgiving parades on TV that made me nervous around parades. All of those large inflated creatures that if there was just one wrong misstep could send their handlers floating off somewhere over the rainbow.
As I drove into town yesterday, tractor pulled floats with balloons flapping in the breeze, pickup trucks with 'Vote-for-so-and-so' and gleaming red fire trucks passed me coming the other way. When I reached the center of town it looked like someone had set a bomb off (wonder if they had a permit?). Trash everywhere.
Families were still milling around town clinging to their children's hands to keep them from running into the street to salvage any leftover thrown candy. I saw one child dart out into traffic, hit a pile of manure (EEWWW) left by a horse in the parade, pick up a piece of candy and slide across the road into the waiting arms of a very shocked parent. One parade judge was receiving medical attention because one of the parade participants had thrown an exceptionally large piece of hard candy at him and boinked him on the head.(I think they got last place.) I heard a little girl sobbing inconsolably because she hadn't gotten any of the candy thrown in her direction.(See a pattern here?)
As I was waiting to make a left-hand turn in the center of town, I was startled when I heard something beside me go bleep, bleep. I looked at all of my mirrors and couldn't see a thing. Bleep, Bleep, BBBLLLLEEEEEEPP!! All of a sudden, six very large clowns(I'm scared of clowns too!) jumped up out of the smallest motorized vehicle that I have ever seen and yelled, "Chinese Fire Drill".
The light turned green but I stayed put. Clowns were running beside me, around me, one even tried to open my door (good thing I had it locked) all jumping up and waving, one tripped over his feet, one pulled a flower from his sleeve, one honked his nose at me and one handed me a balloon in the shape of a wiener dog. As the light turned back to red, they hopped back into that car, made a right-turn and sped off.
I waited for the light to turn green and was shocked to hear a bleep, bleep once again. I looked up and saw that little car heading my way again and thought, "I don't think so." I didn't care what color the light was, I slammed that Mustang down into first gear, hit that pile of manure, hit the emergency brake, squalled the tires, and laid down a piece of rubber that would've made Old Number 3 right proud. I left those clowns choking and gasping in my dust.
I needed to stop and get gas before I left town and was a little uneasy when a guy in a clown suit pulled up at the next pump. He smiled at me and I just kind of looked away. I heard his cell phone ring and he began to talk to someone. I had finished pumping my gas and looked backed over at the clown. (He wasn't there.) As I did so, I heard a 'honk', I jumped out of my skin, turned back around and there stood the clown. "My friends just called and said you really made their day with that maneuver back at the light," he said. "They want to know if you want to go to the next town and be in the parade with them?" (Sign me up!)
Posted by Gianetta at 6:26 PM
Thursday, July 4, 2013
|The scene--Any small town in a state that doesn't allow fireworks, namely Georgia.
A guy walks into his local courthouse and asks where he can get a permit. The guard sends him down to the permit office. There is a really long line and only one window open. He admits to himself that this permit thing must be a pretty good idea, 'cause everyone here seems to be getting one. After all, on July 4th, he always hears fireworks going off all over town, so, they must have a permit, right?
The man finally reaches the counter after one lunch break, and two smoke breaks and asks the lady about applying for a permit. She pulls out the forms and said that the fee was going to be $500.00. He scratches his head and thought that that sounded like a lot of money. "Ma'am, why does it cost so much to get a permit to let off fireworks," he asked?
"Let off fireworks," she said. "Don't you know that is illegal in this state?"
The man scratched his head once again and then asked, "What are all of these people here for?"
"Sir, this is the tag office," she said.
The man, quite confused by this time, looks up and asks, "Where does the city get its permit to let off fireworks for the community each year?"
The lady, quite at a loss for words looks up and says, "Wait right here, I'm gonna go get my supervisor."
Enjoy your 4th of July wherever you are and remember this: Let the professionals shoot off the fireworks, because they have a permit. Just don't ask to see it.
Monday, July 1, 2013
|It took me a few years to learn to appreciate this delicacy served at picnics, potlucks, and funerals. Church socials, family reunions and basically any other gathering that served food always seemed to have several different kinds of potato salad. Potato salad or tater salad as we call it in my family is a gathering requirement. Someone usually asks who's bringing the tater salad and the resulting answer is met with extreme caution. You see in the middle-aged fat woman's family there are four (4) different recipes for tater salad. And none of us really like the others' recipes.
Mom's recipe is a classic tater salad laced with eggs, onions, (I'm allergic) pickles, (I don't like) relish, (Yuck) and celery seed.
Brother's recipe is stocked with onions, (I'm allergic) paprika, and every dressing and sauce in the fridge which total (at last count) 43.
Sister's recipe is spiked with onions, Ohio style chili, and caffeine free Diet Pepsi. (No comment for that one)
Middle-aged fat woman's recipe is a meat-and-potatoes kind of dish. It only has a few ingredients, none of which are listed above, except eggs.
I subscribe to several upscale magazines and had seen a new recipe for Summer Potato Salad. Well, I thought la-dee-da, I'll just have to give this new tater salad a shot. The new recipe called for fancy bleu cheese crumbles, 3 tablespoons of coarse salt, red wine vinegar and freshly chopped chives.
What a disaster.
Of course, all of the stores were closed for the holiday, so, I had to stop at a convenience store to pick up those unusual ingredients, none of which they had.
I got to Mom's house and began to assemble the Summer Potato Salad. (She had already cooked the potatoes) We poured 3 tablespoons of Morton salt into the bowl. We added wild onion stems pulled directly from the front yard. Lastly, we poured blue cheese salad dressing into some cottage cheese to get the crumble effect. We had all of the other ingredients so we added them in as well.
Mom looked at me and I looked at her, "You ready to taste it?"
In went the spoons, out came a gag and a bleccckkk, she spit hers out and my eyes teared up. It was awful. Just awful. Brother came in and gave it a taste, "That tastes like @%X*^!#," he said, then threw down his spoon in disgust and stomped out of the kitchen. Sister wasn't in town for this holiday, but her daughter was. I looked over at her with spoon in hand and she said, "I'm allergic to tater salad." (Smart kid)
Posted by Gianetta at 3:13 PM